Chapter 4: Learning the Ropes (Continued)
"Servants can materialize different attire," Raikou explained, closing her eyes briefly. In a shimmer of magical energy, her revealing battle kimono transformed into a more modest outfit—a stylish but understated blouse and slacks combination that wouldn't draw undue attention on city streets. Her distinctive purple hair remained, but tied back in a simple ponytail.
"Whoa," Denji breathed, impressed by the magical transformation. "That's useful."
The other three Servants followed suit. Artoria's armor dissolved into a smart business suit with a blue tie, giving her the appearance of a young executive. Jeanne opted for a conservative white blouse and navy skirt combination that suggested a teacher or office worker. Nero, predictably, chose the most eye-catching outfit of the group—a fashionable red dress with gold accessories that still managed to convey imperial confidence.
"Umu! Even in disguise, the Emperor must shine!" Nero declared, twirling to show off her outfit. "Though this restraint is almost physically painful!"
"You look like you're going to a nightclub, not a yakuza office," Denji observed dryly.
"Is that inappropriate?" Nero asked, genuinely confused. "The Emperor studied your modern fashion while you slept! This matches current trends!"
"It's fine," Denji sighed, deciding to pick his battles. "Just... try to let me do the talking when we get there, okay?"
"We should discuss our approach," Artoria suggested practically. "Will all four of us accompanying you raise suspicions?"
"Definitely," Denji nodded. "They're used to me showing up alone or just with Pochita. Four gorgeous women suddenly hanging around a guy like me? They'll immediately think something's up."
"'A guy like you'?" Jeanne repeated with gentle curiosity. "What do you mean by that?"
Denji gestured vaguely at himself—his worn clothes, scarred hands, and generally disheveled appearance. "Look at me. I'm not exactly the type who attracts... well, anyone. Let alone four..." He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.
"I see no issue with your appearance," Artoria stated matter-of-factly. "A warrior is judged by their resolve and honor, not superficial characteristics."
"Umu! The Emperor finds your rugged survivor quality quite refreshing!" Nero added with a wink that made Denji flush slightly. "Palace courtiers grow tediously polished!"
"Perhaps," Raikou suggested, smoothly redirecting the conversation, "only one of us should accompany you visibly. The others can maintain a discreet distance."
"That makes sense," Denji agreed, grateful for the subject change. "But who should—"
"I shall go!" Nero declared immediately, striking a pose. "The Emperor's charisma will ensure successful negotiations!"
"Your... enthusiasm might be counterproductive in this context," Artoria observed diplomatically. "Perhaps someone with a more subtle approach would be preferable."
"I believe Raikou might be the most appropriate choice," Jeanne suggested. "Her maternal demeanor could explain her presence without raising alarm."
"I could be introduced as a relative," Raikou agreed, looking pleased at the idea of officially claiming familial status. "An older sister or cousin concerned about your welfare."
"But you have purple hair," Denji pointed out. "We look nothing alike."
Raikou concentrated again, and her purple hair shifted to a more natural brown shade. "Better?"
"That... could actually work," Denji admitted, surprised by the transformation. "But what's our story? Why are you suddenly showing up in my life?"
"Family reconnection is a common narrative," Artoria suggested. "Perhaps she was recently informed of your situation and came to offer assistance."
"Umu! A touching tale of familial duty!" Nero approved. "With undertones of redemption and reconciliation! Worthy of imperial theater!"
"They'll still be suspicious," Denji warned. "The yakuza don't trust anyone."
"Let them be suspicious," Raikou said with serene confidence. "So long as they provide the information we seek, their trust is secondary."
Pochita returned from his perimeter check, trotting up to the group with what appeared to be a rusty can in his mouth—apparently his idea of a valuable discovery.
"Good work, buddy," Denji praised, taking the offering. "Always on the lookout for... tetanus opportunities."
Pochita preened under the appreciation, then gave a questioning look at the Servants' new appearances.
"We're going job hunting," Denji explained to his partner. "Modern clothes edition. Raikou's coming with us, and the others will follow secretly."
With their plan established, they set out from the warehouse, Denji leading the way with Pochita at his side and Raikou walking beside them with perfect maternal posture. Artoria, Jeanne, and Nero followed at a discreet distance, blending surprisingly well with the morning commuters despite Nero's occasional dramatic gestures.
"So," Denji asked quietly as they walked, "can I ask you something that's been bothering me?"
"Of course, child," Raikou replied warmly.
"Why me? I mean, of all the people who could have stepped in that circle... why did it summon you guys for someone like me?"
Raikou considered this thoughtfully. "Summoning rituals, even irregular ones, respond to compatibility and need. Perhaps you possessed qualities that resonated with our spirits."
"What qualities? I'm nobody special."
"You survived," Raikou said simply. "In circumstances that would have broken many others. You maintained your humanity despite inhumane treatment. You formed a bond with a devil rather than succumbing to hatred. These are not insignificant achievements."
Denji hadn't considered his miserable existence in those terms before. "I just did what I had to do to stay alive."
"The manner in which one survives reveals their true character," Raikou observed. "You could have become cruel, vindictive, or entirely self-serving. Instead, you share what little you have with your companion. You maintain empathy despite receiving little in return."
"You got all that from knowing me for one day?" Denji asked skeptically.
Raikou smiled. "Maternal instinct is remarkably perceptive."
They arrived at the yakuza-owned pachinko parlor that served as a front for the devil-hunting operation. The electronic jingles and flashing lights created a chaotic atmosphere that conveniently masked hushed conversations and occasional screams from the back rooms.
The bouncer at the door—the same burly man from Denji's previous visit—raised an eyebrow at the sight of Raikou.
"Chainsaw kid," he acknowledged Denji, then nodded toward Raikou. "Who's this?"
"My cousin," Denji replied, sticking to their agreed story. "She's visiting from out of town."
The bouncer looked Raikou up and down with obvious appreciation, then suspicion. "Since when do you have family that looks like that?"
"Since always," Denji shrugged. "Just because I never mentioned her doesn't mean she doesn't exist."
"Takeo doesn't like surprises," the bouncer warned.
"I'm merely accompanying my young relative," Raikou said with perfect maternal concern. "Family should support each other's professional endeavors, don't you agree?"
Something in her tone—a subtle undercurrent of danger beneath the pleasant exterior—made the bouncer straighten slightly. "Sure, whatever. Wait here."
As the bouncer disappeared inside, Denji whispered, "That was impressive. He's usually way more difficult."
"Men who project aggression often respond to subtle dominance cues," Raikou explained calmly. "It's a matter of establishing the proper hierarchy."
Five minutes later, they were ushered into the back office where Takeo, the thin yakuza lieutenant with expensive glasses and a perpetual expression of boredom, waited behind his desk.
"Chainsaw boy," he greeted Denji without warmth, then turned his attention to Raikou. "And unexpected company. How... interesting."
"This is my cousin," Denji began, but Takeo cut him off with a dismissive wave.
"I don't care who she is. What I care about is why she's in my office when we have a strict no-observers policy for business discussions."
"I assure you," Raikou interjected smoothly, "I'm merely here as family support. My young cousin has been through difficult times, and I've recently learned the extent of his... financial challenges."
"Financial challenges?" Takeo's thin lips curved in amusement. "Is that what we're calling crippling debt and organ harvesting these days? How delightfully euphemistic."
Denji tensed, but Raikou's hand on his shoulder kept him from responding rashly. Her grip was gentle but conveyed a clear message: let me handle this.
"I understand business is business," Raikou continued, her voice pleasant but with steel underneath. "And family is family. Surely we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement that serves both interests?"
Takeo leaned back, studying Raikou with new interest. "You don't talk like his family. You don't look like his family. And you certainly don't belong in this part of town." His hand moved slightly toward his desk drawer—likely where he kept a weapon. "So let's skip the cousin fiction and get to why you're really here."
Raikou's smile never wavered, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "Very well. Directness is often more efficient." She leaned forward slightly. "Denji will continue providing his valuable devil-hunting services. In return, you will ensure he receives fair compensation and cease the practice of harvesting his organs when payments are delayed."
Takeo laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That's not how this works, lady. The brat owes our organization a fortune his worthless father left behind. He hunts devils for us, we pay him what we decide he's worth, and when he falls short on payments—which is always—we take alternative compensation. It's a system that works beautifully."
"For you, perhaps," Raikou acknowledged, her maternal aura darkening subtly. "But systems can be... adjusted when they become unbalanced."
The implied threat hung in the air.
Takeo's amusement faded. "Are you threatening me? In my own office? Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
"I know precisely who I'm dealing with," Raikou replied calmly. "The question is whether you do."
The tension was broken by Pochita, who chose that moment to growl softly—not at Takeo, but at the door behind them. A second later, it swung open, revealing a tall, older man in an expensive suit. His gray hair was pulled back in a traditional style, and ritual tattoos peeked from beneath his collar.
"Takeo," the newcomer said mildly, "I heard we had unusual visitors."
Takeo immediately stood and bowed. "Ozaki-san. Yes, the chainsaw kid brought... company."
Denji went rigid beside Raikou. This was Ozaki—the loan shark who held his father's debt, the man who had authorized multiple "donations" from Denji's body when payments fell short.
"Interesting," Ozaki said, his gaze lingering on Raikou. "And what brings you to our establishment, miss...?"
"Raikou," she supplied with a slight bow—polite but not subservient. "I'm here regarding my young relative's situation."
"Ah, family matters." Ozaki smiled thinly. "Always so complicated, aren't they? Please, continue your discussion with Takeo. I merely wanted to observe."
He took a seat in the corner, his watchful presence adding another layer of tension to the room.
Takeo, emboldened by his boss's arrival, regained his confidence. "As I was explaining, your 'relative' has obligations that cannot simply be renegotiated because a pretty face asks nicely."
"I understand obligations," Raikou nodded. "And the importance of honoring them. Perhaps we could discuss the current rate for devil elimination? I understand the market value for such services is considerably higher than what my cousin typically receives."
"Market value?" Takeo sneered. "He takes what we offer because he has no alternatives. That's how business works in this part of town."
From the corner, Ozaki spoke up. "Actually, Takeo, let's hear the lady out. What do you propose, Miss Raikou?"
Raikou turned to the older yakuza with a respectful nod. "A simple arrangement. Denji continues eliminating devils that threaten your operations or territory. He receives fifty percent of the market value for each elimination, with that percentage applied to his outstanding debt. No further 'physical contributions' will be required."
"Fifty percent?" Takeo scoffed. "Ridiculous."
"And what makes his services suddenly worth such a premium?" Ozaki asked, seemingly more curious than dismissive.
"Enhanced efficiency," Raikou replied smoothly. "With my assistance, he will be able to eliminate devils of significantly higher threat levels, providing greater value to your organization."
"You?" Takeo looked her up and down skeptically. "No offense, lady, but devil hunting isn't a job for someone who looks like they walked out of a fashion magazine."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Raikou said with a serene smile. "Perhaps a demonstration would be appropriate?"
Ozaki's eyes gleamed with interest. "Yes, I think that would be informative. Takeo, what's the current highest-priority target?"
Takeo hesitated, then opened a folder on his desk. "The Rust Devil in the abandoned factory district. It's been corroding our weapons shipments. Bounty is 100,000 yen."
"Perfect," Raikou nodded. "We shall eliminate this devil today. Upon verification of its destruction, we can discuss more permanent arrangements."
"You're that confident?" Ozaki asked, studying her with new interest.
"I am," Raikou confirmed simply.
"Very well." Ozaki stood. "Bring proof of the kill by nightfall, and we'll revisit this conversation. Fail, and the original terms remain in effect." He glanced meaningfully at Denji. "Including the scheduled organ collection tomorrow."
Denji swallowed hard but said nothing.
"Agreed," Raikou said, rising gracefully. "Until this evening, gentlemen."
Outside the pachinko parlor, Denji finally let out the breath he'd been holding. "That was... intense. I've never seen anyone talk to Ozaki like that and walk out intact."
"He is a predator who recognizes another predator," Raikou observed calmly. "Though he underestimates exactly what kind."
The other three Servants materialized from the crowd, joining them in a quiet side street.
"We observed the exchange," Artoria informed them. "A tactical gambit with considerable risk."
"Umu! But executed with admirable confidence!" Nero added enthusiastically. "The Emperor approves of bold negotiations!"
"This Rust Devil," Jeanne asked, "What can you tell us about it, Master?"
Denji ran a hand through his hair. "It's nasty—causes metal to decay on contact. Several devil hunters have already failed to take it down. One guy came back missing an arm after his weapon dissolved mid-fight."
"A challenging first hunt," Artoria nodded approvingly. "Good. It will establish our capabilities convincingly."
"But we only have until nightfall," Denji reminded them. "And if we fail..."
"Failure is not an option," Raikou stated with absolute maternal certainty. "No one is taking any more parts from you, child. Ever."
Something in her tone—an ancient, protective violence barely contained beneath the serene exterior—sent a shiver down Denji's spine. For the first time, he glimpsed what made her a Berserker-class Servant, despite her composed demeanor.
"The abandoned factory district is several kilometers east," he said, redirecting the conversation to practical matters. "We should get moving."
"First, proper preparation," Artoria insisted. "We need to understand our enemy's capabilities and develop an appropriate strategy."
"Umu! The Emperor demands a victory worthy of commemoration!" Nero declared. "Not merely a triumph, but a spectacle that will cement our reputation!"
"Let's aim for 'everyone survives' as our primary goal," Denji suggested dryly. "The spectacle can be optional."
Jeanne smiled gently. "A wise priority, Master. Though with four Servants at your command, I believe both outcomes are achievable."
As they made their way toward the factory district, Denji found himself in the unfamiliar position of feeling... protected. The four women surrounding him—legends given human form—radiated confidence and purpose that gradually infused him as well. For perhaps the first time in his life, he wasn't facing danger alone with only Pochita at his side.
It was a strange feeling. Not unpleasant, just... foreign.
"Hey," he said suddenly, a thought occurring to him. "Do Servants ever, you know, fight among themselves? Like, who's in charge and stuff?"
The four women exchanged glances.
"In a proper Holy Grail War, Servants of different Masters would indeed battle each other," Artoria explained. "But as we all serve the same Master—you—there is no cause for conflict."
"Unless you commanded it," Jeanne added. "Which would be... unwise."
"Umu! The Emperor naturally assumes leadership when glory is at stake!" Nero proclaimed. "But graciously acknowledges the specialized expertise of her companions!"
"What she means," Raikou translated with a knowing smile, "is that we each have our strengths. In battle, we will naturally coordinate based on the situation at hand."
"So you don't need me to, like, give specific orders?" Denji asked, relieved. "Because I know exactly zero about commanding legendary heroes."
"Your role as Master is to provide magical energy and general direction," Artoria explained. "The tactical execution can be entrusted to us."
"Though we welcome your insights regarding these devils," Jeanne added. "Your experience with them is valuable intelligence."
"Right, about that," Denji said, scratching his chin. "The Rust Devil is basically a humanoid chunk of living corrosion. It doesn't just rust metal—it dissolves it completely on contact. And it can throw these rust projectiles that will eat through pretty much anything metallic."
"Our weapons are spiritual constructs rather than ordinary metal," Artoria noted. "They may have greater resistance to such effects."
"Even so, caution is warranted," Jeanne advised. "We should avoid direct contact with the entity where possible."
"Umu! The Emperor shall incinerate it from a distance!" Nero declared confidently. "My flames shall purify this corrosive abomination!"
"You have flames?" Denji asked, momentarily distracted.
"The Emperor has many talents!" Nero winked. "Some more incendiary than others!"
They continued planning as they walked, the Servants asking detailed questions about the devil's known behaviors, weaknesses, and the layout of the factory where it had made its lair. Denji found himself impressed by their methodical approach—especially Artoria, who mentally mapped attack vectors and contingencies with the practiced ease of a military commander.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the abandoned factory district, the sun was high overhead. The complex sprawled before them—a collection of derelict industrial buildings, rusting equipment, and crumbling infrastructure. Chain-link fences, long since breached in multiple places, surrounded the perimeter.
"This area is considerable," Artoria observed. "Do we know which building houses our target?"
"The main assembly plant," Denji pointed to the largest structure in the complex, a massive concrete building with rows of broken windows along its upper levels. "At least, that's where it was last spotted."
"I sense malevolence," Jeanne said quietly, her eyes narrowing. "A concentration of negative energy within that building. Our quarry is indeed there."
"You can sense devils?" Denji asked, surprised.
"As Ruler, I have heightened perception of supernatural entities," Jeanne explained. "Particularly those of an evil nature."
"That's going to be incredibly useful," Denji realized, thinking of all the hours he'd wasted tracking devils through urban landscapes. "Usually I have to follow destruction and rumors until I find them."
"We should transform to our combat attire," Artoria suggested as they approached the factory. "Civilian clothing is ill-suited for battle."
In a shimmer of magical energy, all four Servants reverted to their true forms—armor gleaming, weapons materializing, power radiating from them in almost visible waves.
Denji stared, still not entirely used to the transformation. "That's... really cool."
"Umu! The Emperor shines brightest in her proper regalia!" Nero declared, twirling her crimson blade for emphasis.
"How do we approach this?" Raikou asked, her massive weapon materializing in her hand—a sword that seemed impossibly large even for her statuesque frame.
"A pincer movement would be most effective," Artoria suggested. "Two entry points to prevent escape. Jeanne and I will take the main entrance. Nero and Raikou, secure the loading bay on the east side."
"And me?" Denji asked, reaching for Pochita.
"You and your companion should remain with Jeanne and myself," Artoria decided. "Your knowledge of devils will be valuable, but your safety is the priority."
"I'm not helpless, you know," Denji protested. "I've been killing devils for years."
"No one suggested you were helpless, Master," Jeanne assured him gently. "But as our anchor in this world, your wellbeing is paramount. Should you fall, we would likely be unable to maintain our manifestation."
"So I'm like your battery?" Denji frowned.
"More like our anchor," Jeanne corrected. "A connection to this time and place."
"The point remains," Artoria interjected pragmatically, "that your safety is tactically important as well as personally desirable."
"Fine," Denji sighed, recognizing the logic even if it bruised his pride slightly. "But Pochita and I don't just watch from the sidelines. We fight too."
"Agreed," Artoria nodded. "From a position of reasonable security."
Raikou knelt briefly to address Pochita directly. "Guard him well, little one. Your partnership has kept him alive this long—an impressive achievement."
Pochita's engine revved in what sounded like agreement.
With positions established, they approached the factory complex with practiced stealth—or at least, four of them did. Nero's definition of stealth appeared to involve slightly less dramatic posing than usual, but still included occasional proclamations of imperial might that made the others wince.
"Is she always like this?" Denji whispered to Jeanne as they watched Nero perform what could only be described as a tactical flourish while moving between cover points.
"The Emperor of Roses expresses herself... distinctively," Jeanne replied diplomatically. "But her capabilities in battle are not to be underestimated."
"Her theatrics might actually serve as an effective distraction," Artoria noted pragmatically. "Drawing attention while the rest of us maneuver."
They reached the main entrance—massive sliding doors hanging partially off their tracks, leaving a gap wide enough to enter. The interior loomed dark and cavernous beyond.
"You sense it within?" Artoria asked Jeanne quietly.
The Ruler nodded. "Yes. Moving among the machinery toward the center of the building. It knows we're here."
"Good," Artoria said with grim satisfaction. "Surprise was unlikely. Now we engage on our terms."
She tapped her earpiece—another mysteriously acquired item whose origin Denji had decided not to question. "East team, we are entering through the main doors. Converge on the central assembly area."
"Umu! The Emperor acknowledges and proceeds with glorious purpose!" Nero's voice came through clearly, followed by a quieter comment from Raikou about maintaining communication discipline.
"Stay close," Artoria instructed Denji and Pochita. "Alert us to any devil behaviors you recognize."
They moved into the factory's shadowy interior, where shafts of sunlight penetrated through broken windows and holes in the roof, creating islands of light in a sea of industrial darkness. The space was filled with hulking machinery—assembly lines, stamping presses, robotic arms frozen in their final positions when the factory was abandoned.
The smell hit them first—not the expected mustiness of decay, but a sharp, metallic odor like blood and oxidized iron mixed together. Then came the sound—a grinding, scraping noise that echoed through the cavernous space, setting Denji's teeth on edge.
"It's moving around," he whispered, pointing toward a particularly dark section where the largest machines clustered. "Searching for metal to consume."
As if on cue, a towering shape emerged from behind a massive press—a vaguely humanoid figure composed of shifting, swirling patterns of rust and corrosion. It stood nearly three meters tall, its limbs elongated and ending in claw-like appendages. Where a face should be, there was only a circular pattern of darker corruption with two glowing points that served as eyes.
"The Rust Devil," Denji confirmed, instinctively reaching for Pochita's cord. "Bigger than the reports suggested."
"It has been feeding well," Jeanne observed, her banner materializing fully in her grip. "Growing stronger with each machine it consumes."
The devil tilted its faceless head, the glowing points of its eyes fixing on Artoria's shining armor. A sound like metal scraping on concrete emerged from it—something between a growl and a laugh.
"It sees a meal," Denji translated grimly. "Your armor and weapons are attracting it."
"Good," Artoria said calmly, her invisible sword raised. "Let it come to us."
The Rust Devil moved with surprising speed for its size, launching itself forward with arms outstretched toward Artoria. As it charged, smaller projectiles—spheres of concentrated corrosion—shot from its body toward them.
"Defensive positions!" Artoria called, dodging the projectiles with inhuman grace.
Jeanne stepped forward, her banner swinging in a wide arc that somehow intercepted the corrosive spheres, dispersing them harmlessly. "Its attacks can be neutralized by sufficient spiritual energy," she reported, sounding almost relieved.
The devil skidded to a halt, seemingly confused by this development. It had clearly expected its projectiles to weaken its prey before contact.
"Now, east team!" Artoria commanded through her earpiece.
From the side entrance came a battle cry that could only be Nero, followed by a startling burst of crimson flames that illuminated the factory interior like a miniature sun. The fire engulfed the Rust Devil from behind, causing it to writhe and emit a metallic screech of pain.
"Umu! Feel the cleansing flames of Rome, foul creature!" Nero's voice echoed through the building as she emerged from the shadows, her blade trailing fire like a comet's tail.
The devil spun to face this new threat, only to be struck from another direction as Raikou descended from above—having apparently scaled the factory's interior scaffolding. Her massive sword cleaved through the creature's extended arm, separating it in a shower of rust particles.
"Coordinated attacks!" Artoria called, charging forward with her invisible blade. "Don't allow it to focus on any single target!"
What followed was unlike any devil hunt Denji had ever witnessed. The four Servants moved with supernatural coordination, attacking from multiple angles with devastating precision. When the devil launched corrosive projectiles, Jeanne's banner intercepted them. When it tried to flee into the shadows, Nero's flames illuminated its path. When it attempted to regenerate its severed limb, Raikou struck again, her sword glowing with purple lightning that seemed to prevent the corruption from reforming.
And at the center of this deadly dance was Artoria, her invisible Excalibur slicing through the devil's defenses as though they were paper, golden light trailing from her blade with each precise strike.
Denji watched in awe from his position of relative safety behind a toppled forklift. "They're incredible," he whispered to Pochita. "I've never seen anything like this."
The chainsaw devil growled in agreement, though Denji detected a note of what might have been professional jealousy in the sound.
"Don't worry, buddy," he assured his partner. "We'll get our chance."
That chance came sooner than expected. The Rust Devil, realizing it was outmatched by the four Servants, suddenly changed tactics. Instead of attacking them directly, it launched a concentrated barrage of corrosive spheres at the ceiling above where Denji and Pochita were positioned.
"Master, move!" Jeanne shouted, but it was too late. The structural supports, already weakened by years of neglect, dissolved under the devil's attack. A section of the roof collapsed directly toward Denji.
Acting on instinct honed by years of survival, Denji grabbed Pochita's cord and yanked it hard. The chainsaw devil transformed in a burst of mechanical noise, merging with Denji in a spray of blood that
Chapter 4: Learning the Ropes (Continued)
Acting on instinct honed by years of survival, Denji grabbed Pochita's cord and yanked it hard. The chainsaw devil transformed in a burst of mechanical noise, merging with Denji in a spray of blood that coalesced into something new—Denji's head splitting open to reveal a roaring chainsaw, his arms transforming into serrated blades.
The four Servants froze momentarily, witnessing their Master's shocking metamorphosis.
"What in the—" Artoria began, her usual composure shaken.
"MASTER!" Jeanne cried out in alarm.
The falling debris crashed down, but Chainsaw Denji sliced through it with his head-saw, the concrete and metal chunks falling harmlessly to either side. With a primal roar that was half-human, half-mechanical, he launched himself at the Rust Devil with ferocious speed.
"Umu! What magnificent transformation!" Nero exclaimed, recovering first from the shock. "The Emperor approves of such dramatic battlefield flair!"
Chainsaw Denji collided with the Rust Devil in a spray of rust particles and whirring blades. His chainsaw head carved into the creature's torso, the high-speed teeth seemingly immune to the corrosive effects that had dissolved ordinary weapons.
"His devil bond is more comprehensive than he described," Raikou observed, her maternal concern momentarily overridden by tactical assessment. "The integration appears total."
The Rust Devil struggled against this unexpected attack, trying to wrap its remaining arm around Denji to apply its corrosive touch. Artoria darted forward, her invisible blade severing the reaching limb.
"Protect his flanks!" she commanded. "Let him maintain the frontal assault!"
The Servants adjusted to this new dynamic with professional efficiency, forming a perimeter around Denji and the devil that prevented escape while allowing their transformed Master room to fight. Jeanne's banner deflected corrosive projectiles, Nero's flames contained the battlefield, and Raikou stood ready to intervene if Denji faltered.
But faltering seemed the furthest thing from Chainsaw Denji's mind. He fought with savage intensity, his mechanical components screaming through the devil's corrupted form. With each slice, the Rust Devil lost more mass, unable to regenerate quickly enough to counter the sustained assault.
"The heart!" Denji's distorted voice emerged from behind the whirring teeth. "It's in the center! Black core!"
Artoria needed no further instruction. She darted in with precision timing between Denji's swings, Excalibur plunging directly into the devil's chest to pierce the core he'd identified. Golden light erupted from within the corrupted form, illuminating the factory interior like a miniature sun.
The Rust Devil gave one final metallic screech before collapsing into a shower of rust particles that dissolved into nothingness—all except for a small, dense black sphere that clattered to the concrete floor. The devil's heart.
Silence fell across the factory floor, broken only by the gradually slowing sounds of Denji's chainsaw. In a grotesque reversal of his transformation, his body returned to human form—blood flowing backward, mechanical parts receding, until only Denji and Pochita stood separate once more.
He swayed slightly on his feet, breathing heavily. "That... was... awesome."
All four Servants stared at him with varying expressions of shock, concern, and—in Nero's case—enthusiastic approval.
"Master," Jeanne approached cautiously, "are you injured?"
"Nah, just tired," Denji assured her, patting Pochita's head gratefully. "The transformation takes a lot out of us."
"You didn't mention you could become a devil yourself," Artoria observed, her tone carefully neutral.
"Not exactly a devil," Denji corrected, picking up the black sphere that was their proof of kill. "It's more like Pochita and I combine. We share a heart—literally. It's complicated."
"Umu! A spectacular secret technique!" Nero declared, practically bouncing with excitement. "The Emperor commends such theatrical combat methods! Though more warning would have been appreciated for proper audience preparation!"
"It wasn't exactly planned," Denji admitted. "Just survival instinct."
Raikou approached, her maternal concern fully restored now that the battle was over. She cupped Denji's face, turning it gently to examine him for injuries. "Such a reckless child. That ceiling could have crushed you."
"That's why I transformed," Denji pointed out reasonably, though he didn't pull away from her inspection. There was something oddly comforting about her fussing.
"The transformation process itself seemed... traumatic," Jeanne observed delicately. "Is it painful?"
Denji shrugged. "I'm used to it. Doesn't hurt much anymore."
"'Anymore,'" Artoria repeated, her sharp ears catching the implication. "It caused you pain initially?"
"Well, yeah. Having your head split open to reveal a chainsaw isn't exactly comfortable the first few times." Denji said this so matter-of-factly that all four Servants exchanged concerned glances.
"Your capacity for enduring suffering is concerning," Raikou stated, her voice softening. "Though I suppose it explains your tolerance for your previous living conditions."
"Hey, whatever keeps you alive, right?" Denji grinned, seemingly untroubled by their concern. He held up the black sphere triumphantly. "And this will keep us alive in style for at least a week! One hundred thousand yen for a single devil—that's more than I usually make in a month!"
"A pittance for what we witnessed," Artoria commented. "That devil would have caused destruction worth millions if left unchecked."
"Welcome to the economics of devil hunting," Denji replied with a shrug. "The yakuza set the rates, and hunters take what they can get. But with you four helping, we could go after the really valuable targets."
"First, we renegotiate your terms," Raikou reminded him firmly. "This success strengthens our position considerably."
"Umu! The Emperor has fulfilled her part magnificently!" Nero struck a victory pose, her crimson blade gleaming in the shaft of sunlight from the new hole in the roof. "Now for proper compensation!"
"And medical attention," Jeanne added, eyeing the blood stains on Denji's shirt from his transformation. "Even if you feel no pain, such changes must take a toll."
"I'm fine, really," Denji insisted. "This is normal for me."
"That," Artoria said quietly, "is precisely what concerns us."
They exited the factory with their trophy, Denji explaining the specifics of the devil hunting economy as they walked. The yakuza valued certain devil parts for various purposes—some for weapons, others for drugs, still others for rituals that Denji didn't understand and didn't want to know about.
"The heart is usually the most valuable part," he explained, tossing the black sphere up and catching it like a baseball. "Especially from the more powerful devils. No idea what they do with them, but they pay premium prices."
"The concentration of malevolent energy is significant," Jeanne observed, eyeing the sphere with professional interest. "In the proper hands, such objects could be used for considerable magical workings."
"Or considerable harm," Artoria added grimly.
"Not our problem," Denji shrugged. "We kill the devils, they pay us, everybody wins. Except the devils, I guess."
"Your moral flexibility is admirably practical," Nero commented. "The Emperor appreciates pragmatism in uncertain times!"
"It's not about morals," Denji corrected her. "It's about survival. Morals are a luxury for people who can afford to eat regularly."
This blunt statement silenced the group momentarily, the harsh reality of Denji's worldview settling uncomfortably around them.
Finally, Raikou spoke, her voice gentle but firm. "Those circumstances are changing, child. With proper support, perhaps both survival and principles can coexist."
"Whatever you say," Denji replied, clearly skeptical but unwilling to argue with the woman who had helped secure his biggest payday in months.
They returned to the pachinko parlor as evening fell, Denji and Raikou entering while the others maintained their discreet distance. The bouncer, noting their return and the smears of rust on their clothing, immediately ushered them into Takeo's office without the usual waiting period.
Takeo was not alone. Ozaki sat behind the desk this time, fingers steepled as he watched them enter. His expression revealed nothing, but his eyes fixed immediately on the black sphere in Denji's hand.
"The Rust Devil," Denji announced, placing the heart on the desk with barely contained pride. "As promised."
Ozaki picked up the sphere, examining it with expert eyes. "Impressive. This devil has evaded three previous hunters." He looked up at Raikou with new respect. "Your contribution was significant, I assume?"
"We worked as a team," Raikou replied diplomatically. "Family supports family."
"Indeed." Ozaki set the sphere down and nodded to Takeo, who opened a drawer and removed a stack of bills. "One hundred thousand yen, as agreed." He pushed the money across the desk. "Now, about our arrangement going forward..."
"Fifty percent of market value for each devil eliminated," Raikou stated, as though the matter was already settled. "Applied to Denji's outstanding debt. No physical harvesting."
Takeo snorted in disbelief, but Ozaki raised a hand to silence him. "Successful elimination of the Rust Devil earns you a hearing, at minimum. However, fifty percent is steep."
"The devil was eliminated in under thirty minutes," Raikou pointed out. "With minimal collateral damage and complete recovery of the valuable core. Previous hunters failed entirely, costing you time and resources."
"True," Ozaki acknowledged. "But the boy's debt is substantial. At fifty percent, it could take years to clear."
"Better years of productive service than months of declining returns as his health deteriorates from organ harvesting," Raikou countered smoothly. "A living devil hunter with all his parts intact is far more valuable than one weakened by progressive mutilation."
Denji shifted uncomfortably, unused to being discussed like a business asset—though in fairness, it was an improvement over being discussed like a collection of harvestable organs.
Ozaki studied Raikou for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Thirty percent," he finally offered. "And the boy continues living in our territory where we can monitor his activities."
"Forty percent," Raikou countered. "And he relocates to more suitable accommodations. His current living conditions compromise his effectiveness."
Another calculating pause. "Thirty-five percent. He can relocate, but checks in daily. And any particularly valuable devils are brought to our attention first, before freelancing elsewhere."
Raikou glanced at Denji, who gave a small nod. This was a better deal than he could have ever imagined negotiating for himself.
"Agreed," she said, extending her hand to Ozaki. "With the understanding that his physical well-being remains intact."
Ozaki shook her hand, his grip firm. "Agreed. Though I remain curious about your sudden appearance in the boy's life. Family rarely materializes from nowhere without motivation."
"Sometimes," Raikou replied smoothly, "it takes witnessing true suffering to awaken familial responsibility."
"How poetic," Ozaki said dryly, clearly not believing her but seemingly content to let the fiction stand for now. "Takeo will handle the paperwork for the revised arrangement. I look forward to seeing what other devils you manage to eliminate."
As they left the office, Denji clutched the stack of bills with barely contained excitement. "That was amazing! Forty thousand yen for one job, and a way better deal going forward!"
"Thirty-five percent," Raikou corrected gently. "And it's merely a starting point. As we establish our value more firmly, further negotiations will be possible."
"Still the best deal I've ever had," Denji insisted. "Usually they pay me barely enough to eat, then take most of it back for debt payments anyway."
Outside, they rejoined the other Servants, who had been monitoring the conversation through Raikou's earpiece.
"A satisfactory initial negotiation," Artoria approved. "Though their continued oversight is problematic."
"Umu! The Emperor would have demanded sixty percent at minimum!" Nero declared. "But acknowledges the strategic value of incremental victories!"
"They remain suspicious," Jeanne observed thoughtfully. "Particularly this Ozaki. We should expect investigation into our backgrounds."
"Let them investigate," Raikou said serenely. "They will find nothing because there is nothing to find."
"So what now?" Denji asked, still staring at the money in his hands as though it might disappear. "We get a hotel room or something?"
"First, proper nutrition," Raikou insisted. "No negotiations on an empty stomach. Then we secure appropriate lodging and develop our longer-term strategy."
"The warehouse is free," Denji pointed out.
"The warehouse is unacceptable for extended habitation," Artoria countered firmly. "Proper rest and recovery facilities are essential for optimal performance."
"And imperial comfort!" Nero added. "The Emperor requires at minimum a hot bath and suitable sleeping arrangements!"
Denji looked down at Pochita, who seemed equally bewildered by these priorities. "They're pretty demanding for summoned spirits, huh buddy?"
Pochita made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
"It's not merely for comfort," Jeanne explained kindly. "Establishing a proper base of operations allows us to create stronger bounded fields, conserve magical energy, and maintain a defensive position if needed."
"Fine, fine," Denji relented. "Hotel it is. But nothing too fancy—we need to make this money last."
"A reasonable midpoint between economy and functionality," Artoria nodded approvingly. "Practical thinking, Master."
The word 'Master' still felt strange to Denji's ears—an unearned title for someone who had spent his life being treated as less than nothing. Yet coming from Artoria, with her regal bearing and obvious command experience, it carried a weight that made his spine straighten slightly.
They found a modest business hotel on the edges of the downtown district—clean and functional without being extravagant. The desk clerk raised an eyebrow at the unusual group but asked no questions when Denji paid cash for a two-bedroom suite.
"Will this suffice?" he asked nervously as they entered the room, suddenly aware of how ordinary it must seem to beings who had lived in palaces and castles during their original lives.
"It's perfect," Jeanne assured him warmly. "Clean, secure, and private."
"Umu! The Emperor has camped in far worse conditions during military campaigns!" Nero declared, bouncing experimentally on one of the beds. "Though a proper bath would elevate this accommodation considerably!"
"There's a bathtub in there," Denji pointed to the bathroom door. "Probably big enough for one person at a time."
"Acceptable!" Nero rushed to claim first rights to the bath, disappearing into the bathroom with theatrical enthusiasm.
Raikou had already begun unpacking the food they'd purchased with a small portion of their earnings—simple but nutritious meals that she arranged with motherly precision on the room's small dining table.
"Eat," she instructed Denji firmly. "Especially after that transformation. You must replenish your energy."
Denji didn't need to be told twice. He fell upon the food with the enthusiasm of someone accustomed to irregular meals, though he remembered to set aside portions for Pochita.
Artoria positioned herself by the window, maintaining a vigilant watch on the street below. "We should establish a rotation for security," she suggested. "I doubt the yakuza would move against us so quickly, but prudence is warranted."
"I'll take second watch," Jeanne offered. "After I've completed setting a basic bounded field around our rooms."
"You can do that in a hotel?" Denji asked around a mouthful of food.
"A subtle version, yes," Jeanne nodded. "Nothing that would disturb other guests or draw attention, but enough to alert us to hostile intent."
"You guys think of everything," Denji observed, impressed despite himself.
"Centuries of combat experience tend to instill thorough planning habits," Artoria replied with the ghost of a smile.
As they settled into their temporary accommodation, a strange domestic atmosphere developed. Nero emerged from her bath wrapped in multiple towels and singing what she claimed was an ancient Roman bathing song. Raikou fussed over Pochita, carefully cleaning rust residue from his chainsaw housing with gentle, motherly attention. Jeanne moved methodically around the room's perimeter, her hands tracing invisible patterns in the air as she established their magical protections.
Denji watched it all with a sense of unreality. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been alone in a leaking apartment, dodging debt collectors and wondering which organ he might have to sell next. Now he sat in a clean hotel room, stomach full, pocket containing more money than he'd seen in months, surrounded by four legendary warriors who seemed genuinely concerned with his welfare.
"This is weird, right?" he finally said aloud. "Like, objectively weird."
"What aspect strikes you as particularly unusual, Master?" Artoria asked, momentarily turning from her window vigil.
"All of it!" Denji gestured broadly. "Legendary heroes appear out of nowhere, help me kill a devil, negotiate with the yakuza, and now we're having a slumber party in a hotel like it's completely normal."
"Umu! When framed that way, it does sound rather extraordinary!" Nero agreed cheerfully, vigorously toweling her hair. "But then, the Emperor's entire existence has been extraordinary!"
"From our perspective," Jeanne offered thoughtfully, "being summoned to unusual circumstances is somewhat expected. The specifics vary, but adaptation is part of a Servant's nature."
"And from mine?" Denji asked. "Because randomly acquiring four super-powered roommates isn't exactly on most people's bingo card."
"Your life appears to have been a sequence of extraordinary adaptations," Raikou observed, still grooming Pochita who seemed to be enjoying the attention immensely. "Merging with a devil, surviving organ harvesting, existing in conditions that would break most humans. Perhaps this is simply the next adaptation."
"When you put it that way, it almost makes sense," Denji admitted. "My life's been weird from day one. Why stop now?"
"Indeed," Artoria nodded. "And pragmatically speaking, our presence offers advantages to your continued survival."
"Yeah, no argument there." Denji stretched, feeling clean sheets beneath him—another luxury he rarely experienced. "I'm definitely not complaining. Just... processing."
"A reasonable response to significant change," Jeanne smiled gently. "Even positive transformations require adjustment."
As night deepened outside their windows, they established sleeping arrangements. Despite Denji's protests that the Servants didn't need to sleep, it was decided that Artoria and Jeanne would take the first security shifts while Raikou and Nero rested—not from necessity but to conserve magical energy.
"And you, Master, require proper sleep," Raikou insisted, practically tucking Denji into one of the beds despite his embarrassed objections. "A growing body needs consistent rest."
"Still not a child," he muttered for what felt like the hundredth time, though the protest was weakening with each repetition.
"Rest is essential for warriors of any age," Artoria stated practically from her position by the window. "Recovery facilitates optimal performance."
Denji couldn't argue with that logic, especially as exhaustion from the day's events—particularly his transformation—began to settle into his bones. Pochita curled up beside him, already half-asleep from Raikou's attentive grooming.
As his eyes grew heavy, Denji found himself wondering what tomorrow would bring. For the first time in memory, the question wasn't tinged with dread or resignation, but something closer to curiosity. Perhaps even a cautious optimism.
"Hey," he murmured sleepily to the room at large, "thanks. For everything today. It was... it was good."
"Sleep well, Master," came Jeanne's gentle reply, the last thing he heard before drifting into the deepest, most peaceful sleep he'd experienced in years.
Chapter 5: New Arrangements
Morning arrived with the unfamiliar sensation of waking naturally—no leaks, no pounding on the door, no gnawing hunger forcing Denji into consciousness. Sunshine filtered through the hotel room's curtains, casting warm patterns across the clean bedspread.
For a moment, Denji lay perfectly still, savoring the novel experience of comfort. Pochita snored softly beside him, his small body rising and falling with each mechanical breath.
"Good morning, Master," Jeanne's voice came from nearby. "Did you rest well?"
Denji sat up to find the Ruler-class Servant seated in meditation pose near the foot of his bed. She had changed from her battle armor to a simple white blouse and navy skirt—her civilian disguise from the previous day.
"Yeah, actually," he admitted, stretching experimentally. Even the aches from yesterday's transformation seemed dulled by proper rest. "Where is everyone?"
"Artoria and Nero are procuring breakfast," Jeanne explained. "Raikou is investigating potential living arrangements more suitable than this hotel."
"Living arrangements?" Denji frowned. "You mean like an apartment?"
"Precisely. While this hotel serves our immediate needs, a proper base of operations would be more strategic for long-term planning."
"Long-term?" Denji repeated, the concept foreign to someone who had lived day-to-day for as long as he could remember. "How long are you guys planning to stick around?"
Jeanne's expression softened. "We remain as long as our contract exists, Master. Until our purpose is fulfilled."
"And what exactly is that purpose? Since there's apparently no Holy Grail War happening?"
Before Jeanne could answer, the hotel room door opened, admitting Artoria and Nero laden with bags of takeout food. Nero's civilian disguise remained as flashy as the day before—a red dress that drew eyes even while technically blending in.
"The conquering heroes return with provisions!" Nero announced dramatically. "The local merchants were most accommodating once the Emperor graced them with her radiant presence!"
"She means we found a breakfast place," Artoria translated dryly, setting down several containers on the small table. "The selection should provide adequate nutrition."
The smell of fresh food drew Pochita from his slumber. The chainsaw devil perked up, nose whirring softly in anticipation.
"Perfect timing," Denji grinned, sliding out of bed. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, having been too exhausted to change before collapsing into sleep. "I'm starving."
"A healthy appetite indicates proper recovery," Artoria nodded approvingly. "Particularly after combat transformation."
As they ate—or in the Servants' case, kept Denji company while he devoured enough food for several people—Raikou returned with news of her housing search.
"I've found several promising options," she announced, producing a small notebook filled with meticulously organized notes. "A two-bedroom apartment in the eastern district, available immediately with cash payment. A small house on the outskirts with good defensive positioning but requiring some repairs. And a converted warehouse space downtown, spacious but somewhat exposed."
"You've been busy," Denji observed, impressed and slightly overwhelmed by her efficiency. "But can we afford any of that? Even with yesterday's payment, my cash situation isn't exactly robust."
"The initial payment from the Rust Devil covers the first month's rent and security deposit for any of these options," Raikou explained. "Moving forward, our improved hunting arrangement should provide sustainable income."
"Assuming we continue finding valuable devils to eliminate," Artoria noted pragmatically.
"Umu! The Emperor has been contemplating our strategic approach!" Nero declared, striking a pose despite being seated at the breakfast table. "Direct elimination services to affected businesses would bypass the yakuza markup! Higher profits for less criminal entanglement!"
"We discussed this yesterday," Denji sighed. "The yakuza don't like competition. Starting a rival devil hunting business would put a target on our backs."
"Perhaps not direct competition," Jeanne suggested thoughtfully. "But selective supplementation? Maintaining your yakuza arrangement while accepting private contracts in territories they don't control?"
Denji paused mid-bite, considering this. "That... might actually work. The yakuza mostly care about the downtown and industrial districts. The residential areas and suburbs have devil problems too, but they're usually smaller targets that don't pay enough for the yakuza to bother with."
"Precisely," Jeanne nodded. "We could establish a secondary operation addressing those needs—helping ordinary citizens while developing an income stream independent of criminal enterprise."
"The yakuza would still object if they discovered such activities," Artoria pointed out. "But the risk is significantly reduced if we operate outside their primary territory."
"And we have four legendary heroes on our side," Denji added, growing more enthusiastic about the idea. "The yakuza are scary, but you guys took down the Rust Devil in minutes. That counts for something."
"It would be unwise to underestimate organized crime networks," Raikou cautioned, her expression darkening slightly. "Even with our capabilities, open conflict would endanger innocent bystanders and attract unwanted attention to our unusual nature."
"Fair point," Denji acknowledged. "So we keep the yakuza jobs, but pick up side gigs in the suburbs where they don't pay attention. Double income, less organ harvesting. I like it."
"Then our living arrangement should facilitate both operations," Artoria decided. "Central enough for yakuza territories, but with access to residential areas as well."
"The converted warehouse would be ideal for that purpose," Raikou noted, consulting her meticulous notes. "Located near the border between districts, with multiple access points and sufficient space for training and planning."
"A warehouse?" Denji raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that basically where we stayed the first night, except with rent?"
"This one has functional plumbing, electricity, and actual walls," Raikou explained patiently. "It was converted to living space by an artist some years ago, then abandoned when they relocated. It requires cleaning but is otherwise habitable immediately."
"Umu! The Emperor approves of spacious accommodations!" Nero declared enthusiastically. "Rome wasn't built in cramped quarters!"
"It would also provide sufficient space to establish proper bounded fields and defensive measures," Jeanne added. "And allow for combat training away from public observation."
Denji looked down at Pochita, who seemed interested in the conversation. "What do you think, buddy? Ready to move up in the world?"
Pochita made a soft revving sound that Denji chose to interpret as enthusiastic agreement.
"Then it's settled," he decided. "Warehouse it is."
The morning progressed with unaccustomed efficiency. Raikou arranged the rental agreement, somehow negotiating an even lower rate than initially quoted. Artoria and Jeanne compiled a list of essential supplies for their new base, prioritizing security and functionality. Nero appointed herself "Imperial Minister of Aesthetic Considerations," which primarily involved dramatic declarations about proper space utilization and color schemes.
Denji, meanwhile, found himself in the novel position of having both money in his pocket and powerful allies at his side. The constant background anxiety that had been his lifelong companion—the fear of debt collectors, organ harvesters, and starvation—had receded to a dull murmur rather than its usual scream.
"This is weird," he commented to Pochita as they packed their few possessions into the cheap backpack that constituted their entire luggage. "Good weird, but weird."
By afternoon, they had relocated to the warehouse conversion. The space was essentially a large open floor plan with a few interior walls creating separate rooms for bathrooms and bedrooms. High windows allowed natural light without compromising security, and the heavy sliding entrance door could be secured against most conventional intrusions.
"It requires cleaning," Raikou observed, eyeing the dusty floors and cobwebbed corners with maternal disapproval. "And proper furnishings."
"It's a palace compared to my old apartment," Denji pointed out, spinning in place to take in the spacious interior. "We could fit ten of those leaky rooms in here."
"Low standards are not something to celebrate, child," Raikou chided gently.
"The structural integrity is sound," Artoria noted, completing her tactical assessment of the space. "Defensible, with clear sightlines and minimal blind spots. It will serve our purposes well."
"Umu! But it requires the imperial touch!" Nero declared, already sketching grandiose design plans that seemed to involve significantly more columns and statuary than the space could reasonably accommodate.
Jeanne had begun walking the perimeter, her hands occasionally tracing invisible patterns in the air. "I'm establishing our bounded field," she explained when Denji gave her a questioning look. "More comprehensive than at the hotel. It will alert us to hostile intent and obscure our presence from magical detection."
"Is magical detection really something we need to worry about?" Denji asked. "I've never run into any magicians in this city."
"Caution costs little compared to the consequences of its absence," Artoria stated pragmatically. "If we are here, it's possible others with similar capabilities exist as well."
The remainder of the day was spent transforming the empty warehouse into a functional living space. Raikou supervised cleaning operations with military precision, while Artoria coordinated security enhancements. Jeanne completed her bounded field, then assisted with organization. Nero, despite her theatrical complaints about 'manual labor unbefitting imperial dignity,' proved surprisingly effective at arranging the space for maximum utility.
By evening, the warehouse had undergone a remarkable transformation. Borrowed futons were arranged in the designated sleeping areas. The kitchen corner had been cleaned and equipped with basic cooking implements. Security measures—both mundane and magical—were in place. It wasn't luxurious, but it was clean, functional, and exponentially better than Denji's previous living situation.
"Not bad for a day's work," Denji observed, collapsing onto one of the futons with exhausted satisfaction. "I've never had this much space before."
"It's merely the beginning," Raikou assured him, already preparing dinner in the kitchen area. "Proper furnishings will follow as resources permit."
"Umu! The Emperor has extensive plans for aesthetic improvements!" Nero announced, presenting Denji with a sketch that seemed to involve ceiling frescoes and decorative weapons displays. "Rome wasn't built in a day, but it began with vision!"
"Maybe we focus on basics first?" Denji suggested tactfully. "Like, chairs and stuff?"
"A practical approach," Artoria approved, entering from her exterior security check. "Functionality before ornamentation."
As they settled in for their first night in the new base, Denji found himself studying his Servants with growing curiosity. The chaotic events of the past two days had left little time for deeper questions, but now, in the relative calm of their secured space, he found himself wondering about the extraordinary beings that had entered his life.
"So," he began, as they gathered around the small table for dinner, "I know you're all legendary heroes and everything, but... what were you actually like? You know, when you were alive?"
The four Servants exchanged glances, seemingly surprised by the personal nature of the question.
"Umu! The Emperor is delighted to discuss her magnificent reign!" Nero declared instantly, seizing the conversational opening with characteristic enthusiasm. "Rome flourished under my artistic and cultural leadership! I established the Quinquennial Neronia, a festival of music and poetry that elevated the empire's cultural standing! My architectural vision transformed the urban landscape, particularly after the great fire—"
"Which you didn't start," Denji interjected, drawing on vague historical knowledge.
"Absolutely not!" Nero looked genuinely offended. "Historical slander of the highest order! The Emperor was performing in Antium when the fire began! Yet the opportunity to rebuild allowed for wider streets, improved water systems, and stone construction that reduced future fire risks!"
"So you were more of an artist than a warrior?" Denji asked, fascinated by this glimpse into ancient history.
"The Emperor contains multitudes!" Nero declared grandly. "Cultural patron, chariot racer, musician, actor, and when necessary, military commander! Though I preferred creation to destruction, when Rome required defense, I answered with imperial might!"
"What about you?" Denji turned to Artoria, who had been quietly eating while Nero expounded on her achievements.
The King of Knights considered her response carefully before speaking. "My reign was brief by historical standards but significant in British legend. I drew the sword from the stone as a child and spent my years trying to be the perfect king—just, honorable, and devoted to the prosperity of Britain."
"But something went wrong?" Denji prompted, sensing an undercurrent of regret in her measured tone.
"The perfect king is not necessarily the perfect human," Artoria replied with surprising candor. "In my pursuit of ideal kingship, I became distant from my people, failing to understand their hearts while protecting their bodies. This... disconnection ultimately contributed to Britain's fall."
The honesty of her self-assessment created a momentary silence around the table.
"That's pretty harsh on yourself," Denji finally said. "Sounds like you were trying your best in a really tough situation."
"A king is judged by results, not intentions," Artoria stated, though her expression softened slightly at his defense. "But I appreciate your perspective, Master."
"Jeanne?" Denji turned to the saint, curious about the woman history remembered as Joan of Arc.
"My story is perhaps simpler," she said softly. "I was a farm girl who heard divine voices instructing me to drive the English from France. I followed those voices, led armies despite having no military training, and helped crown a king before being captured and burned as a heretic."
"Burned alive?" Denji winced. "That's horrible."
"It was painful," Jeanne acknowledged with remarkable serenity,